Sarah Helen Whitman
When summer gathers up her robes of glory, and like a dream of beauty glides away.Collection: Summer
The shy little Mayflower weaves her nest, But the south wind sighs o'er the fragrant loam, And betrays the path to her woodland home.Collection: Home
Beside the brook and on the umbered meadow, Where yellow fern-tufts fleck the faded ground, With folded lids beneath their palmy shadow The gentian nods in dewy slumbers bound.Collection: Yellow
The aster greets us as we pass With her faint smile.Collection: Asters